


Tramp Stamp

by Alex_Write



Series: Spideypool Fics [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: First Meeting, M/M, Soulmates, rated T for one cuss word, soul marks, tags are hard man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 08:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13877148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Write/pseuds/Alex_Write
Summary: Everyone gets their soul marks when they turn 18, Peter is no exception - Spiderman or not. It was just his luck that his mark wouldn't be typical, though...and of course that meant that his soulmate couldn't be normal either.





	Tramp Stamp

**Author's Note:**

> based off a prompt from tumblr
> 
> Not beta-read. If you see mistakes feel free to let me know, I'll edit them as I can.
> 
> If you like then drop me a comment and some kudos! This *might* turn into a series with a mix of tumbler prompts and "original" ideas.

There was no written recollection of when the phenomenon first started. Every culture seemed to have their own theories and stories around the Soul Marks, but the one thing that everyone knew and agreed on was that the Marks appeared the day a person turned 18 at the exact time of their birth. Each mark was unique, baring the first words that their soulmate would say to them in thick dark ink. Upon meeting and exchanging of words, the marks would turn colors, usually one that represents something about the relationship that they would have.

Every kid grew up learning the meanings of the colors as well as day dreaming about what their future marks might say and where they might be located.

Most people had them somewhere considered “romantic” or “sensual” places; across their hearts or wrists, sometimes the shorter phrases were found along an ear where a lover might casually brush. Others might have it around their belly button or across a hip. Most phrases were fairly typical things, greetings of one kind or another, but most children like to day dream that they'd have something really unique.

A few people, upon their 18th birthday, found their Soul Mark had formed already colored in. Sometimes this was a good thing, best friends realizing that they were soulmates the entire time, and other times it wasn't as good, complete strangers who'd never even exchanged names and only seen each other briefly once before being soulmates and unable to find each other.

Peter was sure that he didn't fall into that category. Even though he lived in a populated city, he rarely went anywhere other than home and school. He also wasn't sure that he wanted to meet his soulmate. Ever sense he was bit by that spider, he'd reconsidered the entire issue. When he was young, he'd been like any other kid, day dreaming and hoping. Now though...now it was too dangerous. What if his soulmate was used against him? What if one of the baddies got to them and hurt them in revenge for Spiderman having caught them and gotten them locked up? No. It was too dangerous.

Even still, on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he rolled out of bed and did the expected inspection. No writing was anywhere he could see, though he figured that he'd ask his Aunt to look behind his ears and other hard to see spots just in case. With small hope, he went to take a shower and start his day.

Throughout the day he checked, knowing that the Mark could appear at any time since his Aunt and Uncle had never known exactly when he was born. It wasn't until he went to bed that night, though, that his slowly increasing hope was suddenly dashed. There, scrawled low across his back just where it curved out to his ass were three dark black words, “Dayum, dat ass!”

Jerking on the first shirt that he could find, Peter quickly hid the mark and then let himself fall face first onto his messy bed. Of course he had a mark, how could he have thought that he didn't? It was extremely rare that someone didn't have one. Normally it was only sociopaths and psychopaths that didn't have one; people incapable of actually loving or caring for another person. Peter would actually say that some days he cared _too_ much. And of course he wouldn't have a typical mark. No, his had to be some trashy version of a tramp stamp!

Deciding to put it out of his mind, he curled up on the bed after setting an alarm on his cellphone to get him up after his nap. He still had to patrol that night, after all. The crime of the world didn't stop just because he was unhappy with his Soul Mark and nothing he could do would change the fact that one day he'd eventually hear those words. 

~*~

It was more or less easy for Peter to forget about his Soul Mark. When people asked, he got use to shrugging and saying that his mark was typical, nothing special other than it was his. He also got use to wearing hoodies and tucking in undershirts, anything to keep the mark from being visible. A few notable times he used covering make-up when he wasn't able to ensure that the mark would stay covered with cloth. He figured if he could keep it hidden, then it basically didn't have to exist at all.

Almost two years went on like that. Peter graduated high school and started college. He got a more full time position at the Bugle, though it still didn't pay the bills really, and moved out of his aunt's house into a run down apartment in a bad part of town. Spiderman also kept working at night – with the occasional day time appearance. The vigilante's name became a household name, the media couldn't seem to decide if they loved him or hated him, and his reputation among the baddies got bigger and bigger until it seemed to take on a life of its own. 

It was during one of those nights that it finally happened, though it wasn't anything like what Peter had thought would happen.

Swinging madly about, Peter – as Spiderman – worked to avoid the bullets that were being shot in his direction from the four men on the pavement. They'd been in the middle of moving women that they'd been planning to sell when he'd stumbled across them. After having let the “merchandise” go, they'd started shooting at him. Not that he was going to let them go to start with, obviously, but it did make it harder to get them rounded and strung up for the police like normal. 

It happened mid swing, just as he was moving after the last remaining baddie who'd finally had the thought to try and flee. 

A low whistle pierced the air, startling both Spiderman and the thug that he'd been chasing after. Thankfully Peter was able to make his last shot, pulling himself ahead of the thug and giving him the chance to wrap him up in a cocoon of webbing before dragging him over to the rest of the gang. Bending over, Peter grabbed a random shift of paper to scribble a note for the police.

“Dayum, dat ass!”

Peter froze cold, eyes widening behind his mask before he slowly stood up straight and turned to look at the man behind him. 

Like Peter, the man was dressed in a red outfit that included a mask that somehow had expressive eyes. It was the Katanas strapped to the man's back that clued him into who the unknown male was. Deadpool...a mercenary for hire that was said to be as insane as he was good at his job. There was a rumor that the reason the man wore such a costume was because he'd been badly injured to the point where he felt it was needed to hide himself. It was also rumored that the man couldn't die. 

While Peter stood there, staring blankly at Deadpool, the older man walked closer. “I mean seriously, Baby Boy. That booty don't lie! I could bounce a quarter off that thing. What is your secret? Do you do yoga? Butt injections? Tell me, I must know how to get an ass like that.” 

Blinking, Peter tried not to show how startled he was. Crossing his arms, he leaned back slightly from Deadpool, giving the man a quick once over. 

“Maybe I was just born with it.”

This time it was Deadpool who froze, the eyes of his mask somehow managing to get comically wide. His hand lifted to rub at his shoulder to rub lightly before he let out a loud squeal and started dancing about madly. 

“Baby boy is my Soul Mate! Baby Boy is my Soul Mate! I get that bubble butt!” 

Rolling his eyes, Spiderman quickly scooped up the dancing mad man before swinging off, making Deadpool let out another squeal of delight. Once at a rooftop that Peter decided was safe, he dropped the other man unceremoniously down before lightly landing, breaking off the strand of web that he'd been swinging on and turning his back to the other man.

“Check my Soul Mark. I know you said the correct words – and who the hell says that first to their soulmate? - but lets make sure that the marks actually changed color to indicate we're right.” It was as good of an excuse as anything. If he was going to be soulmates with a mad as a hatter mercenary then he figured he wanted to know what color his mark was. It would at least give him some kind of hint as to what was in store for him in the future.

As he untucked the shirt of his suit from the pants, he heard Deadpool get up from where he'd been dropped and come closer. With a carefully held breath, he lifted the back of his shirt high enough for the other man to see the mark. For a moment there was only quiet, then a snort, and an out right giggle from Deadpool who managed to wheeze out something about tramp stamps and claiming the booty.

Re-tucking his shirt, Peter waited for the merc to gather his wits about himself, tapping his foot impatiently and crossing his arms as he stared the man down. It seemed like ages before the older man did so, wiping non-existent tears from his eyes before tilting his head slightly to the side as he seemed to consider Peter for a moment.

“Your mark is mostly red, but it seems to be highlighted yellow too.”

Peter knew that red suggested energy, passion, strength and danger. Yellow meant happiness as well as energy. Thinking about it, Peter supposed that it made sense. Deadpool was a mercenary known for his violence and insanity, Peter himself wasn't exactly a safe person to be around. At least Peter knew that no mater how insane his life got, Deadpool would be able to keep up...and at least there was happiness in his future. It was also almost guaranteed that his life would never be dull.

Holding out one hand, Peter took a deep breath and pulled his mask off with the other. “Well Deadpool...it's nice to meet you. I'm Peter, and I'm apparently your soulmate.”

There was a small hesitation before Deadpool braced himself as well and pulled off his own mask, revealing a face filled with pockmarks and what seemed to be badly healed wounds. “Wade Wilson.” A black leather gloved hand wrapped around Peter's pumping it once while the most brilliant blue eyes that Peter had ever seen stared at him expectantly.

Shrugging, Peter sent him a wry smile. He could get use to those eyes, and he was sure that he'd get use to the scars...Yes, Peter figured that they'd get along quite well. 

 


End file.
